First Contact
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Whouffle Prompt: Clara feels twelve doesnt want to touch her anymore, but he is trying to respect her. But she isn't having it- recent regeneration.


It doesn't take her long to notice that he keeps his distance. Clara imagined it was because she'd done the same. She lingered on the opposite side of the Tardis; she stood a bit further away when they walked along the streets in Victorian London, trying to solve a mystery. She flinched at his touch the first time he'd tried.

He hadn't tried to hug her, like the previous incarnation often did. He hadn't tried to touch her neck or swipe at her cheek or tap her head or strum his forefinger along her jaw – all motions she'd gotten used to from the man who came before. He'd simply wanted to shift her aside to get a better look at something. An innocent enough action that, from anyone else, would have elicited a simple apology and a shuffling of her feet, but she'd jerked at the touch.

As though he'd burned her.

In a way, maybe he had. Clara felt horrible for thinking it, but every time she looked at his face, she wished it were another's. She longed to see the light eyes with the strong brow and the barely there eyebrows that rose happily when they saw her. She wanted that stubborn chin and those long dimples, and that thick dark hair that always danced over his head as he twirled to amuse her.

So she blamed herself when she moved to stand at his side and he took a step away. She knew it was her fault when he slipped his hand away just as she reached out for it. Clara sighed sadly when they caught a killer and laughed together, arms beginning to reach and then his suddenly shrank away, hands tightly grasped into fists, as he turned and began to make his way towards the Tardis with a small bop of his head and a simple, "_Come along, Clara_."

As though she were a child.

It made it harder to look past the wrinkles in his skin and the greys that swept through his hair. Made it harder to imagine that when she caught him gazing at her while she studied some old book on the console floor as he tinkered with the Tardis controls he was thinking anything other than how she held him back. Because to him she was young and foolish. Clara found it difficult to smile because some part of her thought maybe he'd rather have someone else.

Maybe someone like River Song. Someone who could dash in, guns blazing with a smug grin to save the day. Maybe someone like Amy Pond. Someone who could understand what he was thinking, stop him from himself with a hearty laugh. Maybe someone like Rose or Martha or Donna or Sarah Jane or Ace or any number of other companions he spoke highly of. Just someone not her.

"You look upset." His words were quiet and when she looked across the console at him, he was staring down at some lever he was toggling back and forth, thick brow screwed together in frustration before he slapped it away and glanced up at her, waiting on her silence. "Clara?"

Shaking her head and looking away, she replied quietly, "It's nothing."

He laughed and she dropped her head. His new laugh was dark and deep and sometimes it frightened her because she never quite understood whether he was properly amused or whether he was sarcastically voicing his frustration with her and when it tapered off, she met his eyes again. They were bright, brighter than she'd ever seen them and she could see the red rimming them, as though something she'd done were bringing him to the verge of tears and the notion stung at her heart. He didn't want her there.

"I should get out of your way," she managed to mumble, taking a deep breath and moving to walk towards the corridor to find her room – she found herself sequestered there more often in the past few weeks – but he was quicker, long legs taking him to block her path and when she looked up, he was staring down at her, a scowl of something she couldn't quite make out.

Concern?

Confusion?

Anger?

She hated that she could never tell with him. Everything about him flustered her and even now, she stood a foot from him as though there were a wall between them – one that had never existed before. At least not like this. Clara turned away and she was surprised when she felt his forefinger and thumb come up to land delicately at her chin, turning her head back to him as he nodded down at her and asked quietly, "What's wrong?"

On impulse, she bridged the gap between them, her arms coming around his midsection, hands clasping to one another at the center of his back, and she pressed her ear to his chest. His hearts were drumming their familiar beat as she waited and then she whispered, "I miss you."

"Clara," he laughed, "I'm right here."

She held him a moment, pained when his arms didn't come up to wrap around her, and then she released, stepping back with a nod and a simple, "I know; I'm sorry."

"What is this about?" He asked sternly.

"You've just been," she looked up to see the way his features softened, seeing the sorrow on her face, "I know what regeneration means; I've been around enough of you to know you'd be different, but… _you're different_."

He smiled then, a rarity, and he bent slightly to ask, "Clara, what's wrong?"

Shaking her head, she laughed timidly and told him, "Nothing's wrong, Doctor."

"You think I don't know you?" He shot, head giving a slight tilt when she glanced up at him curiously. "Clara, how am I different – what's bothering you and please, don't try to tell me it's nothing, because I know you and I know that it's something. Something you think is important, but you obviously don't think is important to me."

She smirked, brow knotting painfully to admit, "Just then, when you touched my chin," her voice tapered off as she exhaled a small laugh, "That's the first time you've touched me in weeks."

The Doctor turned to look towards the corridor and when he turned back, he nodded slowly and asked, "_That's what this is about_ – I haven't initiated physical contact…" he trailed, then added, "_Like him_."

Clara felt foolish for nodding, hands twisting themselves in front of her as she shrugged, "You're different, that's all – and I get it. I just don.."

Her words were cut short when he reached up to palm her cheek, thumb slowly working over her temple before his hand slid down, fingers curling over her ear through her hair as they slipped over it. His left hand came up to cup around her neck just as his right dropped down to settle atop it and he smiled, bowing his head slightly to smile and Clara could see the tension lift from his demeanor as he exhaled, "I thought you didn't want me to."

She laughed, shaking her head and reaching up to grasp at his wrists, turning her face slightly to kiss his hand before she uttered, "I'm sorry I was hesitant."

"I thought you simply didn't want me to – I was trying to respect that because, frankly, I didn't blame you," he gasped, "Have you _seen_ this face? Bit _alarming_ – and I've had some alarming looks before."

"I know," she teased as he feigned anger before it drifted away and he smiled.

Clara watched as he continued to smile, his eyes lighting up as they softened to look her over and she could feel his thumbs working at her jaw on either side just before he pulled her into a tight hug, one that came with a long sigh. She closed her eyes and raised her hands to his back as he stroked hers over, telling her quietly, "I've missed you as well, Clara Oswald."

She felt him press a kiss into the top of her head and Clara grabbed hold of his coat knowing they had weeks to catch up on and she would stand there with him on the console for as long as it took. And she knew, feeling the way he leaned his cheek to her head comfortably as he continued to massage at her back, it could take a while. Something, she knew, she was perfectly content to do.


End file.
